


The World's Second Longest Night

by HowardR



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Sexual Situations, Chance Meetings, Denial of Feelings, Destiny, F/F, Fate & Destiny, First Meetings, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Fun, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Has Long Hair, Harry Has Secrets, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Harry is immune to it though, Hermione Granger is So Done, Hermione has to deal with Luna, I love Luna, Kinda, Lesbian Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, Luna messes with people, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, POV Hermione Granger, Pansexual Luna Lovegood, Sarcastic Draco Malfoy, Screw Destiny, Tags Are Fun, Tags May Change, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, but not awkward for Luna, fun ensues, maybe? - Freeform, she's da best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:19:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowardR/pseuds/HowardR
Summary: It's odd, really, that they all have the same tradition. With Malfoy, it's probably some rich person thing or other, a whim passed down through his sicko semi-fascist family. Makes sense.But with Harry, Luna and Hermione, it's almost pure coincidence. Harry comes to the bonfire despite knowing nobody there, because he celebrates the winter solstice for... for his own reasons. Hermione goes because Lavender forced her into it. Luna goes because Ginny went, and because the fire is pretty.Coincidence. The cogs of fate turning in a way that seems random at best.Luna doesn't believe in coincidence. Draco thinks Luna is crazy. Hermione thinks coincidence is just a part of life.But Harry can't help but wonder... could coincidence just be another word for destiny?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue: Pennies From Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to the almighty J. K.

Draco leaned against the railing and smoked.

The important words in that sentence, to the majority of people, is not what they were for Draco. Sure, smoking is bad for you and all that - Draco knew that. How could you not? But he didn't see it as a sign he was self-destructive or some such bullshit. Standing out in the night air, biting cold nipping at his nose and cheeks, didn't make him feel like he was doing something wrong, despite the nicotine staining his fingers.

This was his break, and he would take it however he wanted, thank you.

Behind him, lights glittered, and the muffled noises of chatting and piano washed over him. He had always been able to play some piano. Not enough to really be impressive, but enough to give you the impression that he knew more than he did.

Enough to fake being impressive.

He sighed, hanging his head. Smoke billowed from his nose.

It was better inside, from a purely physical standpoint. It was warm in there, at least. They had a roaring fire, plenty of people to talk to, lots of books to read if you didn't want to talk. The chandelier was the most impressive one in Britain. This party was likely the most prestigious gathering going on in the whole country.

Only one problem. Which brings us back to the important words in that sentence.

In there, Draco wasn't Draco. In there, he was _Malfoy._

Out here, though...

The moon hung heavily over him, dripping twilight teasingly. He propped himself up with the railing, arms straight.

His dark green dress shirt clung to him.

Oh, no, not dark green. He had nearly forgotten. _Emerald_ green, important distinction there - emerald was tasteful, while plain ole' _dark_ wasn't.

He had almost wanted to just drop everything and leave the house right then and there. Because, tonight, he knew he would have to deal with people who would think the same damn thing.

He would have to _be_ one of the people, too.

In there, he was the _Malfoy heir._

He stared out over the horizon, cigarette dwindling to ash between his fingertips.

The city was below him. London, during the dark, really was one of the most beautiful sights Draco knew, even to this day. Little lights glittered up at him from skyscraper windows, people bustled on the streets below. Car horns honked and the smell of gasoline clung to the air. And, of course, the fog - an ocean of fog, billowing out on the streets and landscapes, thick and grey and interspersed with car headlights. Glowing street signs, and hanging street lights, and plain asphalt streets. A cacophony of noise rose up from there - and yet, he was so above it all that it was muffled, barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the party.

_Ha. How poetic._

He flicked his cigarette but out onto the street below, straightening. His posture automatically went rigid,

_(Carry yourself well, Draco, we aren't slouches, we're Malfoys.)_

shoulders straightening and eyes glinting.

Back into the lion's den he went.

Breaktime was over.

Time to be a Malfoy again.

_And, really, that's my fate. Always a Malfoy, never just Draco._

And, if anyone told him that going to a winter solstice bonfire would change that forever, he would've scoffed and told them not to tell such ridiculous jokes.

On the streets below, a young man with long, unruly black hair tied into a ponytail and a snake around his shoulders paused suddenly in his playing.

Before him was a guitar case, with a few bills and coins inside.

One of the man's hands reached up from the strings of his crappy Takamine, and absently brushed cigarette ash from his hair, before he kept on playing.

"You'll find your fort _uune_ fallin' - all over town,

Be sure that your umbrella is up-side down!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song at the end there is an old jazz thirties piece - 'Pennies From Heaven'.
> 
> A Sucker For Luna,
> 
> -Howard R.


	2. Wrong, Wrong, And Wrong Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the other members of the cast.

“Herms!”

“Nope.”

The room was done in tasteful wooden colours. Warm oranges, browns and reds. The drapes were straight out of a horror film, Lavender had always said - but Hermione claimed they were tasteful. Made the place look like a library instead of an apartment, she insisted. Lavender, of course, had stared at her like she was crazy - but that happened with or without drapes on a daily basis, so it didn’t bother her that much.

Lavender’s thin, perfectly manicured hand swooped down to grab the book open before her. She moved it swiftly to the left without breaking eye contact with the sentence she was on.

Lavender had to try another ten times before she finally managed to grab the book and pull it swiftly from Hermione’s hand.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun this time!”

“You said that the last twelve times.” Hermione drawled, reaching over and grabbing a notebook and golf pencil. Lavender tried, in vain, to grab it.

Hermione moved it expertly out of the way, and made a single tally in a page of tallies.

“What’s that?”

Hermione set the notebook aside and raised a sharp eyebrow at her roommate - and, loath as she was to admit it, friend.

“A count of how many times you’ve said it would be fun to go to another one of your damn parties.”

Lavender stared at her.

“You  _ count _ that?”

“I have to have proof for my numbers.” Hermione answered defensively. She reached over and flipped the notebook to the page of tallies, turning it to show Lavender.

There sat two groups of five and one group of three.

“See? Twelve times before this. And you’ve been wrong  _ every. Time.” _

Lavender rolled her eyes.

“C’mon, you’re being melodramatic - was last time really  _ that _ bad?”

Hermione flipped to another page in the notebook, and pointed to a group of seven tiny tallies in the corner.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“How many guys hit on me at the last party.” Hermione answered, with yet another raised eyebrow.

“Okay, okay-”

“And  _ this _ is how many people offered me drugs.” She went on, flipping to a page with three tallies.

“Fine, I ge-”

“And  _ this _ is how many threw up right in front of me.” Six tallies this time.

“You’ve made your-”

“Have I? Because you’re  _ still _ trying to pitch me on parties.”

Hermione was sitting, cross-legged, on an armchair. It was the only piece of furniture she had brought into the apartment, besides the bookshelf. Lavender had had to get her a bed because she kept passing out in that chair, with a book or her laptop in her lap and head on her shoulder.

Lavender had suggested, once, that she use the footstool they had. Hermione had stared at her in such a piercing manner that she had instantly dropped the idea forever.

“Herms, you  _ need _ to get out there! Come on, go to this one, meet a guy- oh come on!”

Lavender had interrupted herself with that exclamation when Hermione had flipped to another page in her notebook and made a tally. She turned the notebook again - on it, sat a whole myriad of tallies of varying darkness and materiel. Some drawn from ink, some crayon, some graphite - some of them jagged, rough lines, some of them perfectly straight dashes.

“And  _ that,” _ Hermione said smugly, “is how many times you’ve told me I have to, ‘go out and meet someone’.”

She made air quotes.

“That is  _ not- _ Herms!!”

She had once again made a tally on another page.

“How many times you’ve doubted me for the sake of your ego.”

The page had around twenty tallies. Lavender snatched the notebook from Hermione’s hands.

Hermione simply stared at her with a perfect poker face. She had always been alarmingly good at that.

“This one  _ will _ be fun and you  _ will _ go to it!”

Hermione didn’t break eye contact.

“Come  _ onnn, _ Herms - this one won’t even have drinking, I swear! It’s just a week long getaway - chill out in log cabins, go to bonfires and play tennis…”

She trailed off as Hermione simply kept staring. She sighed.

“They have a library.”

“How big?” Hermione countered instantly, sitting up.

“Bigger then the one here.”

“De-” Hermione cut herself off suddenly.

“Are you going to try to force any guys on me?”

Lavender rolled her eyes.

“I  _ swear, _ sometimes I think you’re a closet lesbian - but I’ve never seen you look at any girls, either.”

“Straight as an arrow.” Hermione answered confidently. “I just don’t date the kind of guys  _ you _ would want me to.”

There was a pause.

“Fine, deal.” Hermione said. “Gimme my book.”

Lavender grinned sunnily at her, and handed the thick leather volume over. She snatched it up.

“We’re gonna have so much fun, Herms!”

Hermione peered up at her from the edge of her book. She made sure there was absolutely  _ no _ fondness in her tone as she answered,

“ _ Sure _ we are, Lozenge.”

* * *

“Gin-Gin!”

Ginny looked up from her laptop with a surprised smile.

“Lav-Lav!” She cried, springing up to hug her old bestie.

“Oh my God, how  _ are  _ you?”

“Never better, Lav.” Ginny answered confidently, grin sharp.

Lavender glanced over at the table, smile still stuck on her face. It vanished, though, when she noticed Luna staring at her distantly.

“Oh. Uh, hi Luna.”

Ginny’s smile froze. Luna, however, smiled easily, if dreamily. Her eyes drifted across Lavender’s face, seeming to soak in details even while remaining a thousand years away.

“Hello, Lavender.”

Lavender forced a strained smile. Luna’s smile didn’t change.

There was a beat of silence.

“What’re you  _ doing _ here?” Ginny cut in forcefully, with all the subtlety of a battering ram. The ginger led Lavender over to the table, sitting her across from Ginny’s seat and smiling.

Lavender smiled back, trying to ignore Luna’s still fixed stare.

“Well, I was in town - me and Herms have got a break, so I thought-”

“Wait - stop.” Ginny cut in. Lavender raised an eyebrow at her.

“ _ Herms?” _

“Oh, yeah - Hermione, I mean.”

“You…”

Ginny looked shocked, and slightly awed.

“You call her  _ Herms? _ And you still have all your limbs?”

Lavender was about to respond when Luna raised her hand. She stopped, glancing at the blonde.

Ginny sighed.

“I told you not to do that anymore, Luna.”

“But it’s rude to interrupt.” Luna answered sagely, turning her piercing and yet distant gaze on Ginny. Ginny didn’t seem quite able to meet it for more than a moment.

“It isn’t normal, Luna.” Ginny answered, though her tone suggested she knew it was a lost cause.

“...Yes?”

Ginny sighed again, but dropped the point.

“What’s up, Luna?”

“Who is Hermione and/or Herms?”

Ginny’s lip twitched a little.

“She’s a girl me and Lav used to go to school with. She’s Lavender’s roommate now, right?”

Ginny turned to Lavender for confirmation. Luna turned her spotlight gaze to Lavender as well, and she felt a phantom spider crawl down her spine.

“Yep. And I managed to convince her - wait, you’re going to the bonfire winter solstice thing this week, right?”

Ginny’s eyes lit up.

“Are you gonna be there?”

“Well,  _ duh.” _ Lavender said with a roll of her eyes, though there was a teasing lilt to her voice. “It’s only, like, the biggest party in the country.”

“Bonfire?”

Lavender and Ginny froze.

Luna’s gaze had turned to Ginny, with a curious kind of look. The ginger in question averted her eyes.

“Uh - yeah. There’s a, um, a party going on this week, up in the forest.”

Luna tilted her head slightly - like a curious cat.

“I hadn’t heard.”

Silence.

_ Of course you haven’t heard. _ Lavender almost wanted to say.  _ Nobody wants  _ _ you _ _ at a party. How could you possibly not know that? _

_ Well, _ another part of her brain answered,  _ because she only knows what she wants to, obviously. It’s why she knew enough to pass pre-calculus at age ten and yet still believes in the tooth fairy. _

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” Ginny muttered.

Lavender had never gotten her friendship with Luna, or why she had such an aversion to lying to the odd girl. Luna took everything she said at face value - it never even seemed to cross her mind that Ginny might be lying to her.

_ Must just be something about those eyes. _ She decided.

“Well, that’s okay.” Luna said instantly, head untilting. “We all forget sometimes.”

Completely, totally sincere. Lavender wished Hermione believed her that quickly.

“When is it?”

Any relief that might’ve entered Ginny’s frame disappeared just as quickly at that question.

“Why? You don’t like parties.” Ginny said quickly.

Luna looked up slightly, seeming to consider that point carefully. Her long, slender finger traced the rim of her teacup.

Lavender had once been convinced that she would never find someone with paler skin or longer fingers than Hermione - but Luna’s skin tone had a kind of  _ translucence _ to it, that showed light blue criss-crossing veins on the underside of her arm all the way to her elbow, and a spidery pattern of arteries and scars on the back of her hand. Her fingers were long enough that she could probably hit piano notes an octave apart with her thumb and  _ index _ finger without any strain.

“Yes.” Luna said finally. “But fires are pretty. And I’d like to see you with other people.”

Her spotlight gaze fell on Ginny again.

“And plus, it would make you happy. You always say I have to get out more.”

Lavender caught the guilt flash in Ginny’s eyes. Sometimes she even wondered if Luna  _ did _ know what she was doing, and was so cunning and maniacal as to have planned all this. If this was her revenge for people bullying her or treating her like glass.

She doubted it, but sometimes, the idea had merit.

“When is it?” Luna repeated in the same tone as before. Like she was picking up the conversation seamlessly from its stopping point.

Ginny only hesitated for the barest moment before answering.

“It starts on the seventeenth and goes on to the day before Christmas.”

Luna blinked, and looked up again.

“I’ll have to clear my schedule.”

Ginny winced.

Luna smiled sincerely at the ginger a moment later, though.

“Thanks for inviting me, Ginny.”

By the look on Ginny’s face, Lavender guessed that she too had noticed that she had never actually  _ invited _ Luna. But Luna seemed to consider the topic closed, and turned her spotlight gaze towards the door, staring out towards something only she could see.

The rest of the conversation passed without Luna saying a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day - how scandalous!
> 
> Leave a comment maybe.
> 
> A Sucker For Luna,
> 
> -Howard R.


	3. You People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry James Potter, the ophidian whisperer.

Harry James Potter was an interesting figure.

Neville, once upon a time, had been completely sure that Harry was secretly someone who could speak to snakes.

Since then, he and Harry had become friends. And lovers, once, but that had been a long time ago - an ill-fated one night stand, of sorts, that went on a little longer then is ever should have and was swept under the rug by the two of them with mutual discomfort.

They had met in High School, of course. That was the place that all friendships came to die. And yet, their special brand of friendship - a fairly one-sided one, given how Harry had acted when he was younger (something he had apologized for more then a few times now) - had managed to live past that scholarly hell of bleach-cleansed walls and noisy corridors. Harry had once said, in a rare moment of actual conversationalism, that the library was the only place in the school that he actually liked being in.

He had been convinced Harry was a snake-whisperer for more then a few reasons.

The first was that Harry had, somehow, actually invented his own language. It was an absolutely insane undertaking that had no real logic behind it, and a rare example of Harry actually using the creative spirit that Neville had seen rear its head only a handful of times. It had taken over four years to finish, the first three of which had been in High School. He dubbed it ‘parseltongue.’

The reason Neville had been convinced it was snake language, for a while, was that it was actually heavily inspired by the noises his pet snake made.

Oh, and because Harry had a  _ fucking pet snake. _

Nagini was absolutely terrifying, and thus, of course, Harry loved her. She was as long as his entire arm span and was apparently a breed that enjoyed crushing people’s necks and windpipes to kill them. Harry himself claimed that Nagini would never hurt a soul, but Neville highly doubted it. It was probably only because she absolutely adored Harry, for some insane reason, and wouldn’t do anything he would disapprove of, which - luckily for Neville - included cold blooded murder.

Harry had clarified that parseltongue wasn’t  _ actually _ snake speak, though he had done enough research that he actually  _ did _ kind of understand Nagini. Apparently it had a lot more to do with body language then the actual hisses, though - and apparently hisses were only for conveying negative emotion. Trying to intimidate, mostly. Whaddya know.

Harry had also taken to trying to teach Neville parseltongue, which was… interesting. Harry could make the world’s most inhuman noises, and they, without fail, creeped Neville the hell out. His hiss was so utterly ophidian that it was actually threatening, unlike most human hisses, which were usually just irritating or pathetic. Neville himself had learned to make only a few of these noises, and he had the most basic grasp on some of the fundamentals of parseltongue. Though Harry said he had an awfully thick accent.

_ (How the fuck Harry could identify an accent in this made-up, horrible language was beyond him.) _

Harry had changed a lot since High School. He was still thin and wiry, with long limbs and an easy posture. He could still do that weird boneless relaxation thing that made him look like a calm, resting cat,

_ (Or a sunning snake, though Neville tried not to think about that one too much.) _

and he still played guitar. And played it very well, though he had a propensity for old-timey jazz pieces that Neville never really gravitated to. He was more of a classic rock & roll guy.

Yes, it was fair to say that he rather liked being friends with Harry. Despite his eccentricity and oddities, despite his horrifying snake and his disquieting made-up language.

Despite his perfect arse.

Yes, he liked to think he knew Harry very well - and liked him because of it.

Which was why he was terribly confused when Harry said he was going to a bonfire.

“You’re… joking.”

Harry smiled his tiny, warm smile. “‘Fraid not,  _ ssharaied.” _

Neville repressed the urge to shiver, a little.  _ Ssharaied  _ meant ‘companion’ in parseltongue, and Harry used it as a weird form of affection. It warmed his heart, a little, but it creeped him out more.

He didn’t try to stop him, though. Harry got attached to his affectionate nicknames, and a little possessive of them, too.

Besides, Harry rarely showed affection.

“But you don’t like fire. Or smoke. Or the outdoors. Or anything related to nature besides animals. Or people. Or celebrations.”

Harry nodded easily.

“So… why are you going to a bonfire, again?”

Harry stood smoothly. Effortlessly. And grinned an easy grin, sharp and a little predatorial.

“Because it’s the first time I’ve seen a celebration for the Winter Solstice, and I’ve always wanted to go to one.”

Oh.

Yes, Harry had a very odd relationship with the Winter Solstice. It had a special parseltongue word attached to it  _ (tygarnma, _ one of the harder ones to pronounce), and Harry always took a day off for it. He had never explained why he did, and Neville had only asked once.

Harry had answered with a line of parseltongue - he had been especially attached to it in its formative years - that Neville managed to roughly translate as an  _ I’m not answering. _

“Well, I… have a good time then, I guess.”

Harry propped himself against a pillar with another easy grin.

“What’s wrong,  _ hrygtra? _ ‘Fraid I’ll pick up some wayward Jack or Jill and run up the hill, to fetch a roll in the hay?”

_ Hrygtra _ \- buddy. And Neville could swear more and more with each passing day that parseltongue was giving Harry some weird accent. That ‘s’ on  _ some _ sounded a little too… polished. That wasn’t quite the right word, but neither was  _ hissing, _ so polished would have to do.

Neville shook his head.

“No, I’m not. I’m afraid that you’ll have an awful time and whatever… weird relationship you have with the Winter Solstice will be ruined until next year.”

Harry paused.

“Oh. Yes, I never did tell you why I celebrate the Solstice, did I?”

“No, you didn’t. But you don’t have to.” He said quickly. Harry rarely wanted to share anything.

Harry tilted his head softly. It was another weird habit that made Neville feel a little uncomfortable.

_ (Especially since it made his neck stretch in that way he found way too appealing.) _

“...I never told you about where I was before good ole’ high, either.”

He called High School  _ good ole’ high _ almost religiously.

“No, you didn’t. But I really don’t care all that much, Harry. You don’t have to share unless you want to.”

“...This’ll be our fifth Christmas together, yes?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess. Why?”

Harry smiled. And it was the right one. The one that always melted his heart. The one that made him want to just wrap Harry up in a little bundle of warmth and keep him in a safe place, secluded from everything awful in the world.

“I’ll tell you then, alright? I know you people have some weird love of Christmas.”

He called everyone but himself and Nagini  _ you people. _ Neville had stopped taking even a little offense to it a long time ago.

“...You really don’t have to, Harry.”

Harry’s smile didn’t slip.

“I want to, Neville.”

And wasn’t it odd, that Harry’s special language pet name wasn’t anywhere near as heart-melting as just  _ Neville _ was?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Apparently updates will be slow. Sorry.
> 
> I deleted the last chapter. It was the worst of them so far, shorter then it should have been, and, in hindsight, ill-advised. 
> 
> Do you like my weird, snakey Harry? He's very loosely based on a grown-up version of the Harry in my fic 'Twitchy, and Odd, and Infuriating', a series of one-shots about an odd, Slytherin Harry. That one is more inhuman, though, and has much less of a sense of humour.
> 
> But I'm genuine when I ask if you like this Harry. I really like him, but I know he's a... bit of an odd take on the character. I admit, I may have injected a little bit of my brother in him, too, even though me and Silas are currently on the outs. He's got the most of the R family insanity.
> 
> A Sucker for Luna,
> 
> -Howard R.


End file.
